I Just Do
by kickstergal
Summary: She's tired of endlessly weighing the risks, of waking up alone, of calling a name into the night only to reach out a hand to find empty space beside her. OneShot. Jane's POV.


**DISCLAIMER**: Nope. But I'm working on it. Just kidding. No, seriously.

She's had a hard day; doesn't feel like company, doesn't want a friend. Particularly a certain Doctor who would poke and prod until she was open, laid bare. She doesn't want to be analyzed tonight.

She sits on her couch and switches the TV to her favourite reality show. Sips her beer and watches the couples bicker, get hurt. Wonders why she has such a vested interest in people who can't be together. Who'll never last.

She's crazy for Maura, that's the icing on this fucking god-awful day. She loves her, would do anything for her. Wants her by her side even when she's moping, even when she's not fit company for The Grinch, let alone her best friend. Even when most of her foul mood is of her own making.

Despite the hurt in Maura's face, she'd snapped something, made some snippy excuse not to avail herself of the comfort of Maura's presence tonight.

She's sick of this, that's the thing. She can no longer abide the invisible line that colours their interactions. _Touch her, but pull away. Hug, but for God's sake don't breathe in the scent of her shampoo, she's going to file a restraining order. Look her in the eye, tell her you're there for her. Don't lay claim to her. You can't call her yours._

She's tired of counting the innumerable things she could give Maura, if only she'd look up one day and see something in Jane's face that matched the inside of her heart. She's tired of endlessly weighing the risks, of waking up alone, of calling a name into the night only to reach out a hand to find empty space beside her.

She's tired of trying to get _over_ it, this all-encompassing thing, to forget the nagging feeling that there's no rhyme or reason to this. She's tired of fighting the knowledge that sinks bone-deep- she doesn't have answers, a solution, a crime scene or the bare minimum of circumstantial evidence for loving Maura. She just does.

Jane knows Maura's day wasn't exactly peachy; that she'd welcome the comfort – even the crabby comfort, that Jane might offer. Normally she'd be willing and able to give it. But tonight it irks her that Maura doesn't see that every time she comes seeking respite from a bad case, a bad day... _Scratch that._ Jane mutes the TV, leans forward to scrub her hands over her face, wind them through her hair. Wishes she could tame her thoughts the same why she ties her hair, up and out of her own way.

Maura can't see that every time she walks through Jane's door, every single damned time, Jane is lost. And it's worse when Maura's hurting. Jane can't count the number of times she's wished for the courage to just take the wine out of Maura's hand as she sits in front of Jane pretending to be fine, to not be breaking apart inside. For the audacity to run her hands along Maura's spine and knead out the tension, find Maura's temple with her lips. Help her to breathe without feeling sorrow seep from every pore.

Maura's too _nice_, that's the thing. If Jane threw herself at her feet she'd be so anxious not to make Jane uncomfortable that she wouldn't analyze her own feelings. She wouldn't lie, but she wouldn't hurt Jane, so she'd only find out in the gradual distance Maura would put between them. One day she would wake up and they'd no longer be friends without her ever knowing how it happened and that, more than anything else she doesn't think she can stand.

Jane wrenches off a beer cap, throws it towards her kitchen bench. It hits the floor, and she winces. Maura's raised eyebrow had been enough, the last time she'd walked into Jane's kitchen after a binge.

"You didn't call me." She'd said. Not a question, not an accusation. Just a simple statement, and Jane couldn't muster the words to explain that she'd called her a thousand times in her head that night, could give Maura eighteen transcripts with varying outcomes if she so desired. She'd ducked her head, made some crack about watching a game and not wanting the rules parroted at her, which was a mistake because of the way Maura's face had fallen.

She's tired of hurting her in these little ways. Is terrified it will add up and tip the scales.

She's in the middle of deciding between _Jersey Shore_ and _Idol_ when her phone goes off. She knows who it is before she looks at her screen and she goes to turn it off, shut Maura out when her thumb or her heart or the alcohol decides for her and she answers, sharply. Trying to convince herself as well as Maura that she's angry instead of just empty. "What?"

Silence. Then, "I wanted to make sure you're okay. I'll – I have a quiche that I need to check on, so I need to go anyway. I'll see you at work." The phone goes dead, and Jane stares at it, woozy and vaguely impressed that Maura has managed to lie to her in 2 seconds flat. She presses redial, waits until she hears a professional, chirpy "Doctor Isles", on the other end, despite the fact it's 11 at night and Maura knows it's her.

A reluctant grin tugging at her lips, she makes a statement. "You are not making a quiche."

She can picture the hives creeping up Maura's neck. "I am making a quiche. It's plausible."

She rolls her eyes, tucks her legs under her. "If you were making a quiche you would have told me was make of geese or fish eyes or _venison, _or the fruit of a tree that only grows on a hillside in the Himalayas."

A pause. "That was one time. And it was in Machu Picchu."

She stifles a grin, forgetting the Maura can't see her. "What are you doing?"

"_Cooking_, and talking to you - although I think you're drunk, Jane." Maura switches to the Maura-knows-best voice she knows gets under Jane's skin, clearly wishing to change the subject. "Alcohol impairs judgement, you know."

She rolls her eyes. "Well, I don't know about me but clearly _you're_ having severe happy times because you're making pikachu quiche in the middle of the night."

" I am not making pikachu - Oh, very funny Jane."

She forgets she's mad, tired, empty, and falls in love with this crazy woman all over again. "Maur."

An offended huff sounds in her ear. "What."

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

She flicks off the TV, pulls a blanket off the back of the couch woozily. "How do you know?"

She can hear the affection in Maura's voice, and it wraps around her better than any blanket as she sinks into sleep. "I just do."

**A/N:** I'm convinced Jane is a secret reality TV fanatic. 'Love is hard' is pretty much the biggest understatement anybody was ever fool enough to make, but I thought I'd give a shot at Jane's POV as a short break from _Wild Things._ Have a lovely week, thanks as always for being awesome and for reading :)


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